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Jefferson chuckled again, as he brushed a finger across my lips. Absolution, perhaps, for the words I still couldn’t fully say.

“Yeah, lil bro, I know.”

And then he began fucking me in earnest.

Slamming me down into his lap, then lifting me with galling ease. His arms an iron cinch around me, the only thing now holding me upright as I gasped and moaned. Near-delirious from the waves of impossible pleasure that radiated out from our joining.

His shoulders were broad under my fingers, the definition of his muscles besting any anatomical textbook. And no limits placed on my unsteady exploration of them; no complaint as I traced my fingertips down his face, as I pushed them between his lips. Jefferson sucking on them as he held me with his gaze.

There was a part of me which wanted to mark him, to stake some claim. A demonstration of ownership I knew I wasn’t quite entitled to, but hungered for all the same.

Still, the distant voice in the back of my brain suggested, the people who mattered seemed to already know what was important.

Which just left right now to settle.

“Cum in me, this time,” I told him.

He liked to finish on my face, or across my chest. To watch his load drip down my muscles and between the creases of my abs; to see my lips glazed with it, an inevitable prelude to further kissing. Maybe that was Jefferson’s version of marking me, of declaring me his. I knew, regardless of his motivations, that I’d never deny him it.

Sometimes, though, I just liked to feel him topple over the edge while he was still inside me.

“Whatever you say, lil bro.”

I realized - a moment too late - what I’d done. What I’d invited upon myself.

Jefferson’s grip intensifying, his arms tighter around my chest. All the better to slam me down onto his cock, each stroke seemingly designed to push him as deep inside me as was physically possible. Wielding me as though I weighed nothing, his expression fierce as I gasped and moaned. As the yelps were squeezed out of me, the senior possessing me inside and out.

I clung to him, in whatever way I could with hands that felt boneless.

He was closer than I’d thought, nearer to that final precipice. Cock thickening in me; hips somehow more urgent, more desperate. Wilder with it, too, some of that metronomic rhythm lost as his orgasm built and I struggled to pull down each lungful of air through his straitjacket hold.

“Fuck, lil bro...”

Three words my only warning, not that I needed it. Not that there was anywhere for me to go, anything for me to do, but take Jefferson’s load as he erupted in me. Feel the texture of his strokes shift, the sound of it squishy and lewd.

I pushed back from him as soon as his arms loosened. Hungry for the space to shove my hand between our bodies, to grab at my own dick. Only to growl in frustration as Jefferson snatched both my wrists one-handed, hoisting my arms above my head.

“Mine, remember,” he scolded.

I whined as he wrapped his fist around me; wriggled in his unflinching hold, as Jefferson swirled his rough fingertips around my sensitive flesh. My body close to overload, brain already jellied. Nothing to do but gibber and plead: to beg him to take pity on me.

He grinned, as I drooled down my chest and promised him the world if only he’d relent and get me off.

“Your hole’s going wild around me, lil bro.”

I sobbed as the climax tore through me in messy waves. Cum splattering Jefferson’s chest, his hand; all the way up his arm, lacing thick and bright white against his biceps. His jerking never stinting even as I twisted and squirmed in his grip, and as the pleasure gave way to the torment of his strumming fingers.

I was whimpering with relief by the time he pulled my limp body to him. Squeezing me to his broad chest, his mouth seeking mine. A kiss which, had it gone on just a few moments longer, might’ve even seen me rally. Demand a second round from the cock still inside me.

He laughed - a boyish sound; a glimpse of the Jefferson I’d missed the chance to grow up alongside - as he rested his forehead against mine. Sweat and cum cooling on our bodies. No protest to my hands slowly sweeping up and down his heavy lats.

“We made a mess,” he observed.

I could feel it dripping down me; knew that, when I finally stood, it was almost certain I’d feel him trickling down my inside leg. Still, there was no way not to extrapolate from his comment; to see the truth in it, beyond just the times we had sex.

“You always know how best to clean up my messes.”

Jefferson pulled back slightly; just enough to make eye-contact without it being fuzzy from proximity.